#shot hole disease

[ddejavvu]

Hiii <3 Had a dream last night and it was really cute so i decided to send this idea to you, maybe you'll write a blurb based on it <3 No pressure of course!!

So y/n and Remus are friends and maybe he has a lil crush on y/n. One day y/n randomly asks him what is his fav color and the next day she painted her nails in that color

"Nice manicure," Sirius reaches across the breakfast table to pry at your freshly painted nails, "That's'a pretty shade'a green, looks like the forest."

"Yeah," You nod, eyes on the syrup-soaked triangle of pancake that's left on your plate from where you've massacred the rest of it, "Thought it was nice."

"Oh, that's Remus's favorite," James's eyes light up, "What's it called, sage? 'Think it's disgusting he likes Slytherin colors, but I guess it's that plant nerd in him."

"It is my favorite," Remus hums, paying no mind to James's taunting, his voice soft and knowing, "We just spoke about it yesterday, didn't we, Y/N?"

"I think you mentioned it," You murmur, feeling heat spread across your cheeks as you jam your fork rather aggressively through the last bite of pancake, "Can't really remember. Maybe."

"Maybe," Remus echoes, and you miss something fond in the gentle curve of his smile with the way you're glaring holes through your pancake, "Jus' a happy accident, then. I like them."

"Thanks." You end the conversation by stuffing the bite into your mouth- no more talking for you, please and thank you.

"I'm gonna get mine painted yellow," James decides, looking at his stubby, scraped nails, "Lily's favorite are yellow flowers. Y'think she'll like 'em?"

"I think they'll look diseased," Sirius's nose wrinkles, "You don't paint fingernails yellow, mate. Go for black, she'll think you're cool."

"No she won't." You and Remus speak at the same time, and you're broken out of your crippling embarrassment to grin wryly at Remus across the table.

"She'll never think you're cool, Prongs." Remus claps James on the back sympathetically, "But hey, you gave it a shot. Just stick to the quidditch thing, m'kay? Leave the painted nails to someone who'll be usin' em to scratch up my back pretty soon."

[bayporwave]

Utik

The utik (yoo-tik) are a sophont species the rakii came in contact with when they first landed on Tkrin, their second largest moon orbiting Rek. The utik were actually the first to even set foot onto it, as they had no other choice. After suffering massive damage to their ship, the utik were forced to land on the lunar surface and hope to survive or await help. Years later, the rakii show up, which started an a long, chaotic process of attempt of communication and debating ownership.

The bodies of the utik are actually not their true bodies. The actual sophont lies within the pearly cased cockpit. Utik like the Olac bio-mechs, mastered the technical art of bio-technology, having started on a very hot and humid planet. While unlike the Olac who switched to bio-technology as a means to evade a debilitating disease, the utik mastered it for years, working off various symbiotic organisms. Their mech suits, or cyborg bodies you could say are symbiotic, as after their nervous and circulatory systems are linked, the pilot has full control of the suit, having it feed off waste material from the pilot. The suit then takes the waste, replenishes it, mixes it's own formula into it and feeds it back to the pilot. Like a plant, it gets a lot of energy off light and other forms of UV Retaining it for hours. These suits are suitable (ha) for open space, and lunar terran for a limited time. However proper measures are made to keep the suits tidy from "space dust" so no one goes out "naked" and risk exterior damage.

(quick sketch of utik 'pooters n screens. NOT ENTIRELY FINALIZED)

However, this isn't their true form. At least they didn't start off like this.

Way before, after they reached the ultimate feat in their development, their star was noticeably suffering, as it was predicted to eventually turn into black hole. While they had years 'till then, there wasn't enough time to perfect their original forms for the long-term space travel. So. as best they could, they learned to carefully strip and reduce themselves to nothing more than squishy muscle and brain matter, beforehand creating living space suits and sleeper pods to maintain what's left. Several ships shot into space just in time before their star went dark and each ship jumped in different directions hoping to find and terraform a new world. This group of utik weren't so lucky, as said before.

Now for the first half of the year, rakii and utik were on some tense terms. A lot of internal debates on who gets the moon. While utik were capable of defense, they weren't in a great position to, and the rakii weren't sure how to proceed with their first extraterrestrial contact. (Non-religious turned contact I'd guess???) UNTIL, one day it was brought ahead that, the utik secrete an anti-radiation slime. Something they came with naturally, just cranked to 10.

At first, the rakii thought to use this fluid as an applicable substance similar to sun-block, required to apply pre-spaceflight. However, it was revealed that they are extremely allergic to it. So skin-contact was a big no.

(Unfortunate rakii subject applying utik-based lotion. Results: swelling in skin, which can further cause blisters and splits)

After several trials, they came to a conclusion of using it as a gel layering in space suits, capable of absorbing radiation and protecting the wearer.

This discovery brought up a plan and a deal. It was agreed, rakii and utik would share the moon, making their first ever alliance, in exchange the utik would allow the rakii to harvest this anti-radiation goop off them, of course while exchanging knowledge, and resources.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Arrowhead Jr ||One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl has baby fever

This was a request on my old blog: "ever since i saw daryl holding baby judith ive dreamt about him having absolute baby fever w reader and after babysitting him pestering reader about one?"

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Profanity, birth, babies, mostly fluffy

        "Check this out." Daryl said excitedly, holding up a camo onesie he found. You were on a small run with a few others in search of some new clothes for little Judith, since she had outgrown most of the ones she had. 

        "This is for newborns." You told him, taking the tiny outfit out of his hands.

        "I know.." He shrugged, taking it back and setting it down. 

        "Oh, god. Don't start." You begged. "Not again."

        You had been with him since the prison, after Woodbury fell. You were one of the many refugees Rick had taken in after the town fell apart, and the archer took a liking to you from the beginning. You guessed it was partially due to your friendship with his morally-gray brother before his unfortunate passing, but it was mostly just because you were you. He loved you for it. However, recently, with the safety of Alexandria's walls, he somehow caught one of the scariest diseases; Baby Fever. Especially after the two of you spent a day watching her so Rick could work and Carl could go do normal teenager things for a change.

        "Not startin' nothin." He mumbled.

        "No, but you're doing that thing again!" You argued.

        "What?" He shrugged.

        "That! The sad face and the--"

        "That place is perfect." He explained. "The--"

        "I know, I know. The big walls and the pretty houses and the people and the--"

        "I see you with Judith. I see how you look at her, how you rub her nose to get her to fall asleep and all them lil songs ya sing when she cries."

        "So what are you saying?"

        "Just that we could." He admitted. 

        "Just 'cause we could doesn't mean we should." You sighed

        "I know that, it's just... I wanna."

        "Well that's easy to say when you don't have to carry and birth a child to get one." 

        "Forget it." He huffed.

        The rest of the trip was in silence, and not the comfortable kind you so often shared. You were both frustrated. Him, because ever since he held Judith for the first time, when he fed her that first meal she ever had and felt the rush of nurturing a crying, sweet little baby, a hole formed inside him and it grew bigger every day. He never could have seen himself as a family man before that moment, but ever since, it was a primal urge he couldn't resist. To love a woman, to father a child, to protect and provide for his own family. He had already achieved finding a woman worth his affections, which was you, of course, but he still didn't have his own family and it ate him up.

        Your frustrations were sourced elsewhere, though. For one, giving birth sounded absolutely terrifying, especially in a world lacking in hospitals, epidurals, prenatal and postpartum care. You could handle a fair amount of pain, but birth was an entirely different playing field. Not to mention the risks. You had heard what happened to Judith's mom. How could you risk that? How could he expect you to? And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What kind of world would this be for a child? What kind of life would it have? Alexandria was always too good to be true, and sooner or later something would happen, and you'd all be running for your lives again. It was only a matter of time, to you. To be pregnant would mean no more runs, no more fighting, none of the things that made you useful. You'd just be a big burden with swollen ankles.

        You didn't speak when you all arrived back home, or during dinner, or after. It wasn't until you went to take a shower, until you had already stripped down and stepped into the steamy stream of water. He had silently snuck into the bathroom, undressed, and surprised you by pulling the curtain aside and joined you. You had your back turned to him, allowing the water to rush over you and wash away your racing thoughts. He grabbed the bar of soap and lathered it in his hands until he was satisfied, then he began to wash you. You loved when he did that, it was one of your favorite affections he'd show. He always started by massaging your neck and shoulders, then your back, then your arms, and he'd turn you around and work on the front. With little explanation needed, that was his favorite part.

        "Can we at least think about it?" He finally asked, eyes and hands stationed on your bare skin as you watched his face.

        "We can think about it all we want but it doesn't change anything."

        "But this place is safe. And there's a doctor here. And-- Hell, this house alone is more than either of us could've given a kid before the world turned to shit." He argued. You sighed.

        "I just can't shake the feeling that none of this is permanent." You confessed. He stopped washing you for a moment, considering your concerns.

        "What else?" He asked.

        "What else what?"

        "The other reasons. What else?"

        "This place could fall."

        "Don't mean it will."

        "The doctor could die."

        "I'll make sure he don't."

        "There could be complications."

        "That's what the doctor's for."

        "I can't help on runs or fight or--"

        "Got plenty of people that can do that."

        You took a breath. Was he gonna have a rebuttal to each argument you made?

        "Well," you said, "pregnancy makes us crazy."

        "You're already crazy." He smirked. You rolled your eyes.

        "What about medicine? Epidural? You need and anesthesiologist for that and we don't have that which means I'll feel everything and it's gonna hurt!" You rambled. His smirk grew into an amused grin. "What?" You scoffed.

        "You're scared." He said.

        "So what if I am? I should be. You should be. I could die. The baby could die. It could die down the line when we can't protect it--"

        "Now you just insult me. I'd never let a damn thing happen to you or that kid." He snapped. You gritted your teeth together.

        "You can't control everything. What about childbirth? Women died during birth when there were teams of doctors and surgeons. What about now?"

        "You wont." He shook his head. 

        "Why would you want a baby with me anyways?" You groaned. "I don't even like kids!"

        "Now that's just lyin' to yourself, darlin'."

        "Is not!" 

        "Might've been able to convince me if you never let me see you with Lil Ass Kicker, but you're a natural."

        "Jesus. Are you gonna give our baby weird nicknames too?" You asked as the two of you switched sides in the shower so you could was him too.

        "Our baby?" He repeated. You eyes widened.

        "Hypothetically." You corrected. "Our maybe, hypothetical, improbable baby."

        "Nah, I was thinkin' Arrowhead Jr for ours."

        You couldn't help it, you laughed.

        "You're insane." You shook your head, massaging his shoulder with the suds.

        "Look," he sighed. "I'm not gettin' any younger and I want a family. I already got the girl, now I need the girl to have my babies."

        "Babies?!" You gawked. "How many do you expect me to have? I'm not a damn fetus factory I can't just spread my legs and pop them out on a fucking conveyor belt." 

        "I was thinkin' two."

        "Two." You repeated, hoping that hearing the word from someone else would wake him up, maybe make him understand how ludicrous he sounded.

        "Mhm." 

        Guess not.

        "Two!" You said again. "Two babies that you want me to grow and birth."

        "Yep."

        "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

        "Yeah." He said, turning around to face you. "I'm askin' you to be the mother of my kids and spend the rest of your life with me."

        "Um, the rest of your life. Women live longer than men, statistically speaking."

        "Then think about it. Make the rest of my life mean somethin'."

        "Ugh." You growled. You really weren't going to win this one, no matter how hard you fought. "If you wanted kids so bad why didn't you find someone who had the same goal?"

        "Don't want no one else. Just you."

        "And a kid."

        "Two kids."

        "Let's start with one." You relented.

        He grabbed your face as soon as you spoke the words and kissed you excitedly.

        "Better start workin' on it then." He said, lifting you off the ground and pressing your back to the wall. Things only got steamier from there, and not because of the hot shower.

----

        "Shit!" You whispered, staring down at the third test you'd taken. "Shit shit shit shit!"

        To say it was panic would be an understatement. It was sheer terror. You guessed you knew this was coming but you weren't ready for it yet. The only solace you found was the fact that Daryl would be home soon, and you'd get to see his face light up when you handed him not one, not two, but three positive pregnancy tests.

        He came home shortly after you wiped your tears and pulled yourself together. You were in the kitchen making him a pot of coffee, one that you'd usually share. Yet another thing you wouldn't be able to do for the next nine months.

        You heard the door open, you heard him kick his boots off and set them by the door, and you heard him greet you as he entered the kitchen.

        "Hey." He said casually as you turned to hand him a steamy mug of black coffee, just how he liked it.

        "Hey." You replied, sitting down at the table across from where he took his usual seat. He gave you a weird look when he sat down. He could read you like an open book, and there was very obviously something going on with you that day.

        "No coffee?" He asked, taking a sip of his own. You shook your head. "You okay?" You shrugged. "Talk to me." He said.

        You decided to let him see for himself as you failed to form the words. You were terrified for a lot of reasons, but most of all your pride wouldn't let you say the words, because as much as you hated to admit it, you were also happy. You were happy to make him happy, and you were excited to have someone else to love.

        You reached in your pocket and set the first test on the table. He stopped blowing on his coffee and stared at it for a moment before looking back to you. Then, you set the second one down. He pushed his eyebrows together, either out of confusion or shock, you weren't sure. Then you slapped the third test down beside the first two. He set his coffee down and stood, leaning over them to examine them. You realized he probably didn't know what a single line versus a double line meant, so you gave him a second to read the tests before he reacted.

        The second it hit him it showed. His head snapped up at you, eyes wide.

        "F'real?" He asked quietly. You nodded once and he rushed over to your side, gripping your cheeks between his hands and kissing you over and over and over. You couldn't help but chuckle as you tried to push him back.

        "Oxygen, Daryl!" You giggled. "The baby needs to breathe!"

        "C'mon. We gotta go tell Carol. And Rick. And Glenn. And Maggie." He rambled on and on, adding names as they popped in his head while he pulled you to your feet and ushered you to the door.

        "Daryl!" You protested. "Wait I need shoes!"

---

        You could barely hear Carol as she coached you through pushing with each contraction. The pain was insane and Daryl's hand was probably broken after you had been squeezing it so hard. Denise, the new doctor after Rick may or may not have killed the last one, was also talking you through, sending encouraging words as the baby's head made an entrance.

        "Okay. Breathe. Breathe. One more big push." Carol cooed to your right as Daryl encouraged you from the left.

        "C'mon, (Y/N), you're kickin' ass." He said. Admittedly he spent most of the time it took you to get to this point silent, shock written all over his face. He had no idea how to help you through this, he realized, but he fed off Carol's energy and began to give small words of encouragement when he heard Denise say she could see the baby's head.

        When the next contraction hit, you screamed in agony, pushing with all your might, just like Carol told you. 

        "It's just like doing a sit up."

        You could feel when the baby was out, but you were so exhausted your head just fell back on the pillow as you caught your breath. It wasn't until you heard the baby cry that you looked down at Denise to see her wiping the baby clean and wrapping it in a blanket. She walked over and set the baby down on your chest. "Skin to skin contact is important." She told you, before looking over to Daryl. "For you too, if you want to take your shirt off."

        Daryl was too stunned, just watching in awe as you stared down at your crying newborn baby with admiration. It took him a minute, and a little nudge from Carol who had walked over to his side, before he snapped out of it and leaned in close to you. He got a good look at the baby before he asked, "Boy or girl?"

        "Boy." Denise smiled. She was ecstatic, having successfully aided in the birth of your child.

        "We have a son." Daryl laughed, although it was more of a happy cry. He wiped a tear from his eye as he stood up and removed his shirt, holding his arms out in hopes you'd let him hold his boy.

        "Yeah, we do." You grinned, giving your baby a kiss on the head before you passed him over to his father.  Daryl was breathless as he scooped the infant into his arms, bouncing him and whispering sweet nothings.

        "Hey, little Arrowhead." He laughed. He had called him that for the entire pregnancy.

        "I was thinking about naming him (name of your choice). What do you think?" You asked.

        He nodded and kissed little (baby name). 

        "Hey, (baby name). I'm your daddy."

[oneofstarkskids]

big baby

pairings: clark kent x reader

genre: fluffy sickfic because i'm a disease ridden rodent

summary: clark doesn't get sick, but when you do he knows just how to take care of you.

It was just one of those days. The kind where the orifices in your face wont stop leaking and you could probably curl up for a nap just about anywhere.

You groaned as you grabbed for yet another tissue. Clark, who heard your ailments from the other side of the house (without using his enhanced hearing), was by your side within seconds.

"You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a bit of a smirk.

The glare you shot him could've burned a hole in his face if you were born with his special talents, "Do I look alright to you?"

Clark did his best to suppress his chuckle. It didn't work.

Of course, he couldn't help but be a gentleman. "Is there anything I can get for you? You want some soup?"

You grimaced at the thought of liquid food.

"What I want is to be better already," you whined.

Clark raised his eyebrows. He'd never really been sick, so he could only sympathize with your predicament. Luckily, he had experience caring for his parents whenever they felt under the weather.

He wrapped your blanket around you a bit tighter as he pulled you into his lap, "You're like a big baby."

You frowned and tried to wriggle away from him, but he held you close.

"That's not how I meant it!" He defended.

You rolled your eyes and gave up, being no match for his Kryptonian strength.

"I'm not a baby!" You said in an ironically quite childlike way.

Clark kissed the side of your head before whispering, "What can I do to make it better?"

You closed your eyes and felt your body relax against his. "Just stay right here."

[fatphobiabusters]

I hear a lot about how fatness is a "risk factor" for certain illnesses and diseases. I don't hear much about how so are age, socioeconomic status, experiences of abuse, starvation, sex, race, queerness, and so many other aspects of a person's life. And that's because the world already for the most part accepts that a lot of these factors cannot be changed and that many of these factors are not what actually causes an illness or disease.

You don't develop a medical condition because your bank account suddenly shows a different, smaller number. You developed that medical condition because poverty means unbearable stress every day, less access to healthcare, worse housing, inability to clothe yourself for protection from the elements, having to overwork yourself to be able to afford your basic necessities, going without food, and so many other aspects of oppression. You don't weigh your wallet to measure your health because the amount of money you have is not what actually causes a medical condition.

But no one wants to look at the studies with legitimate methodology and admit that fatness is also in this category—that fatness is not something that we can just choose and will away, that fat people face immense systemic oppression just like any other oppressed group, that the correlation of fatness and illness is not some simple relationship of causation. And that's because doing so would mean no longer making hundreds of billions of dollars off of fat people's oppression and having to admit it's not actually okay to treat fat people as an acceptable punching bag.

When I look at medical information for whatever illnesses, see the risk factors laid out, and the only risk factor the website says to change is fatness? I think about all of the research I've read that shows actual permanent weight loss is as likely as finding Atlantis. The amount of hypocrisy at not telling someone to drink a youth potion as a form of treatment at the same time as they lose weight becomes so palpable that I can taste the dirty money being made off of this website telling people to "just lose weight, fatty." It's as cruel as selling an ill person a random crystal that you tell them will fix their health, which they then rely on instead of actual medical care, causing them to get worse and even die. And if you think that comparison is a stretch, you do not realize how many people die every day because they were told weight loss was the answer or were forced to lose weight before the doctor would actually respect them enough to run tests or so much as touch their fat body.

We live in a world where people with PCOS are told to "just lose weight" to solve their infertility, where that is the very first bullet point listed on a website about a medical condition that makes weight loss even more impossible than the already 95% failure rate for the general population. A world where fat people have to stick their own fat bodies with needles during a doctor's appointment because the doctor is too disgusted by fat rolls to even look at the person's body to give them a shot. A world where fat people with eating disorders are encouraged, applauded, and told to keep going while the thin person with an eating disorder has the "luxury" of receiving help, compassion, and a diagnosis that isn't separated in the DSM with the word "atypical." A world where a fat person accidentally given chemotherapy is told by the doctor "At least it helped you lose weight!" A world where weight loss corporations are making the exact same promises they did in advertisements from 1910, yet somehow over 100 years later we have an "ob*sity epidemic" because diets, weight loss products, and exercise regimens "Really work!!!"

If this single "solution" to ill health has not worked despite well over a century of desperate, constant attempts, maybe we should stop trying to jam a triangle into a square hole.

-Mod Worthy

[rainswept]

love / lyney, wanderer, kaedehara kazuha

— ⟢ summary ⊹ : what is it to them? — ⟢ info ⊹ : 300-500 words each, character-centric. angst (you cannot convince me any of them would be able to have a healthy relationship). quotes are lyrics from various songs by the crane wives. — ⟢ cw ⊹ : all used as metaphors: disease (lyney), gore (wanderer), death (kazuha).

LYNEY — “ THIS RING AROUND MY FINGER IS LIKE A CHAIN AROUND MY THROAT. ”

Lyney knows love well. He meets it first when he is born alongside Lynette. He meets it again every day of his life.

He sees its face in the stray cats on the street, in the sky when it rains, in the Hotel. He sees it in his audience when he steps on stage. He sees it in his words, when he grins and presents someone he is forgetting as he speaks with a rose. He knows love well. But love has never known him.

He has never wanted it to. The idea of love knowing him as well as he knows it is a fear just below his skin, creeping up his limbs and clawing at his spine. It is searing fire in his senses, lumps in his throat. It is cold, rainy nights, and it is the peril that gained him his Vision. It is the anticipation of a magic trick and the devastation when it has gone wrong. It is death. It is disease. It is one he carried knowingly, with little remorse or regard to spreading it until he felt the effects of it himself.

You smile. You laugh. When you look at him, practically with hearts in your eyes, and he realizes he is looking at you the same way — he nearly keels over. It twists his organs into knots: it constricts his lungs until he can’t breathe, swims in his stomach until he throws up, forces his heart to beat far too fast until it gives out. He can’t take it.

He thinks he knows love well, but he is an outsider all the same. When he meets it, face to face, and it spills back to him all the secrets he held from it all these years — he finds he does not know it at all.

— “ ARE YOU SO SURE YOU TAMED ME? ”

WANDERER — “ NOTHING COULD’VE BEEN DONE, IS THAT RIGHT? ”

— “ ‘CAUSE I WAS BORN WITH A HOLE IN MY HEART. ”

The cavities where Wanderer’s most important organs should be ached. His lungs, whenever he saw others breathe; his stomach, whenever he saw others eat; his heart, whenever he saw you.

The Kabukimono was a pathetic lost soul. Kunikuzushi was doomed from the start. Scaramouche was his best shot at being someone. But they all had at least one thing in common: they did not know love.

Out of everyone he’d ever met, you were the worst. The way you put up with his words, his anger, his teeth gnashing and words spitting like a stray ember; he was a wildfire, you the rain, and all he’s ever held dear the burnt crisps of what used to be a forest.

The flames lap at his ankles like they want to swallow him whole. He watches as they wrap up his leg, around his torso, his neck, burning the white wood that makes him who he is — yet he knows he is the one allowing it to.

It was awful. At first, with your tender words and forgiving actions, all you did was stoke the fire settled in the pit of his stomach. Your breath turned the slow-burning thing into a raging inferno — but, soon, the wind you brought that fanned the flames turned into the rain that tried to snuff them out.

And it almost worked. He almost let it work.

He’d cough as ash and smoke rose like bile into his throat instead of fire, wince as some foreign feeling roused from an eternal slumber in his chest. He’d swallow, forcing it back down, even as it felt like hot coals being shoveled into his throat.

He placed his hands over his mouth when swallowing wasn’t enough. He coughed, choked, but to anyone else it would appear as if the flames had simply scorched his throat beyond repair. If he allowed the smoke to rise and billow from his maw instead of searing fire, was that not an admission of weakness? Surrender? Who was he, if not a manifestation of the furnace he had nearly died in? He owed his “life” to a human heart. But he had never wanted one, not like that.

So, somewhere in the back of his mind, he vowed never to allow someone to present him one again. Wanderer has chosen to be heartless, no matter the form, for someone offering him theirs was nearly as cruel of a harvest as Niwa’s.

— “ WE WERE FUCKED FROM THE START. ”

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA — “ HEARTS DON’T WITHER, HEARTS DON’T BREAK. ”

To Kaedehara Kazuha, love is a soft ocean breeze and thrashing storm. It is the scent of sea-spray, the sight of the sunset over the water, the lap of gentle currents, the feel of sun-baked sand underfoot. It is the wild, vengeful waves, chaotic and messy and unbridled; it is the rage of whirlpools; it is the shock of lightning bolts when they strike far too close without warning. It is the happiness of a successful voyage and the dreadful feeling one gets when they know their ship is about to sink. And sink it did.

Water overwhelmed his senses. Frigid, it stung his nose and lapped against his throat, splashing into his mouth and filling it with the taste of salt. Lightning struck a horizon he could barely see over the surface, thunder groaned like it was the one in pain, his ears filled with the splashing of water and rain. He heaved for breath as he spat it out, thrashing against the wild waves that surely wanted him dead, too.

Kaedehara Kazuha lost nearly all he had when his boat had turned to floating crates and his crew to dead, bloated bodies, but he did not lose his life. No, in fact, he grabbed hold of a wooden plank and swam to shore alone.

Exhausted, he collapsed against the warm sand, kissed by the sun that had appeared somewhere in the fray. He was weak, tired, and frail, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered until the weight of what truly happened sank in.

Ever since the lightning had claimed nearly all he held dear, Kazuha was afraid he’d never be able to separate the duality of his feelings. Even so, love was a warmth nestled deep in his heart, beyond where even the cold seawater could seep in. It was never something he thought he’d lose, and he was right. He was never worried about that.

The love he felt for you was different from that of the crew he’d left behind, but it was love all the same; thus, after the fluttering of his heart like a seagull’s wings, regret, sorrow, and longing always came in tow. It was as the ripples behind a boat: if the vessel was moving, so were they.

He could still sail. He always had been able to; death did not change that. But he couldn’t deny that he now sailed differently — and now he was unable to go out to sea without the lingering worry of the inevitable storms like an anchor left down.

— “ BUT MINE IS TIRED, MINE STILL ACHES. ”

[piedpiperslists]

Seokjin One Shots (XXXIV)

* s - contains smut

Whipped by @syubits wc~3k / baker!Seokjin, strangers to lovers Summary: The new intern at the bakery down the street is kinda cute.

A Prince, Pauper and Pear by @jinpire wc~3k / prince!Seokjin, fantasy au Summary: You squinted at him dubiously for a moment before dragging your gaze pointedly up the immaculate leather boots with silver trappings, form fitting trousers and delicate embroidery on the lining of the coat. The shiny bar of silver hanging from his left ear. “Uh….were you trying to hide that?”

Sweet, Inedible Things by @jinpire wc~4.6k / ft PJM, bakery au Summary: Two more tense twelve hour shifts in the bakery have passed, in which Seokjin and Jimin have taken turns snapping at each other over innocent desserts and one confused assistant baker—you—to the point that customers are starting to notice.

Glazed & Dazed by @floralseokjin s wc~30.3k / pornstar au Summary: Vanilla, that’s what you do best as one of the industry’s most loved stars. Only you want a change. Taking the plunge to taint your pure image, knowing so many fans would love to see it sullied, even if just for one movie.  There’s only one man for the job in your eyes. One you’ve always admired from afar, and the only one who’s perfect enough to take your innocence in the most fitting way. Seokjin Kim. Even more famous than you; a pro, a veteran, and someone you can’t wait to give your all for. Together you will be unstoppable.

Lovesick by @jimlingss wc~4.7k / ft PJM, angst, unrequited love Summary: In a world where love is a disease…your heart skips one too many beats.

The Devil’s Advocate by @jimlingss wc~11.8k / devil au Summary: The devil is a lazy. selfish. bastard. He never shows up for work and forces you to take his place at the gates of Hell. But when he follows you on your vacation — you have an inkling of his intentions. After all, you are his advocate.

Worshipers of the Sun by @jimlingss s wc~15.5k / god au Summary: After the war, the God of Sun married the Goddess of Love to exemplify that such devastation will never occur again. But you knew his affections were untrue and fled. After a century, Seokjin goes looking for you to bring you back home.

White Sand by @liveyun wc~3.3k / angst, exes au

Down The Rabbit Hole by @oftenderweapons s wc~12.5k / divorced!Seokjin, FWB, PWP Summary: Seokjin has been meeting Fawn at The Rabbit Hole for a while now. A place of debauchery and foregone inhibitions, and yet only one rule would not budge. Will Fawn finally have a taste of the forbidden fruit?

Brat by @hamsterclaw s wc~4.9k / chaebol!Seokjin, boss au Summary: Kim Seokjin is a lot of things to you. The high school heartthrob you never got with, the fuckboi you hooked up with occasionally in college, and now the chaebol boss you didn't sign up to work for. Things he's never been? A man you can rely on.

[doverstar]

THERE WAS NO OTHER ENDING FOR ROSE and ya know what, I like to think the doctor thinks so too

I think he does too! I’m gonna talk about it, are you ready for me to talk about it? Are you ready for an essay-

I think the Doctor would agree that the ending Rose got—the one with Tentoo on Pete’s World—was the best possible fate for her. I’ll explain why, because I feel like it. First I’ll break down Rose’s most popular alternative-endings. Let’s start with Rose-stays-with-him-until-she-dies. That’s the one Rose decided on long before Canary Wharf. She planned on staying with the Time Lord until she physically couldn’t anymore. Forever.

First of all, that would be painful for the Doctor. He already said it. Watching Rose get shot, drowned, stabbed, sucked into a black hole, sacrificed for a remote planet’s civilization, poisoned, pulled into a void, atomized, eaten, possessed, run over, diseased, or ripped apart would be traumatic and terrible for the Doctor.

Watching Rose grow old and tired and then die would also be incredibly painful. He might try to prolong her life in alien ways, even in medical ways, but then she’s subjected to an unnatural, un-human existence until death claims her. Making a naturally-decaying body stick around and eke out another year, another hour, another century while he watches, exactly the same as ever. Yikes. Not fun for either of them. No thank you. He was against that ending with good reason.

Now, this ending where Rose stays with him until she dies? It is no less an emotional commitment to make than the one every married couple on Earth, every affectionate relationship on Earth, makes. Friends, family, spouses. You will lose them. You have to decide to love them knowing that.

The Doctor does love Rose, but he can’t tell her or admit it aloud because to do that would be facing a reality he’s not willing to face: he loves something he will inevitably lose. The old coward will not do it.

I believe that if Rose wanted to stay with him until she died, knowing she has a shorter lifespan but committing to holding his hand until she could not hold it anymore because he needs that and she can give it to him, and she knows he loves her back—100% yes girl, go for it. That is good and right and fine and she should be allowed to make that commitment. That’s love. That’s literal marriage vows. That’s unconditional, unwavering, and Rose is the first companion in 60 years of TARDIS passengers to love him like that. And he knows it. And it’s scary. But. Even in marriage, that is a commitment that has to be agreed upon by both parties. And the Doctor did not agree. The Doctor, selfish old man, is too afraid. He doesn’t want to watch Rose die, and he tried to explain that to her without confessing anything, and she heard him and tried to explain to him that she decided he would always have her if she had anything to say about it, not for her sake, but for his. (“Who’s gonna hold his hand now?” “I made my choice a long time ago and I’m never gonna leave you.” “Forever.”)

Now. That’s the first option for an alternate ending for Rose. She stays with him as a mortal and he has to watch her die, and they either dance around expressing their love in an unspoken, inexplicit way until he loses her and it’s agony, or they jump in with both feet and enjoy the time they have left, however many days Rose has before death, with the knowledge and understanding that he will outlive her, which is agony but with kissing. Still not 100% happy because one of them is, well, in agony. With a significantly long life stretched out ahead of him to spend as a widower. And it would fundamentally change the nature of a 60-year-old television show, but that’s another Ask for another time. Next is the Immortal!Rose AU, or the Bad Wolf AU. Personally, I don’t care for this AU (though I get the appeal and I do sometimes wish it could be that way). I used to think it was a good idea, and sometimes it's still sweet and I can see it, but the older I got, the more I disagreed with it. Because really, it doesn’t work. The AU’s idea—or its most popular explanation—is that Rose, by absorbing the Time Vortex and looking into the heart of the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways, retained one slice of her godlike powers: she became immortal. Even after the Doctor kissed her and took the Vortex away to save her. The most-used version of this is that neither Rose nor the Doctor are aware that Rose was left with immortality until Tentoo ages and she doesn’t, or her family ages and she doesn’t.

The reason why I don’t think the Doctor would ultimately want this ending for Rose? The Doctor himself would not recommend immortality. He knows it’s ultimately a devastating existence. He himself has a ridiculously-long lifespan. Time Lords are supposed to only have a certain number of regenerations, but each regeneration, if left to age naturally, lives a long freaking time. (With the new Timeless Child nonsense, who knows, apparently the Doctor exclusively is immortal? I pretend I do not see it.) And then if they should die of old age, they regenerate and another chapter of life begins. So the Doctor knows what it’s like to essentially be immortal. And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like watching his friends die around him. He doesn’t like knowing he will outlive the people and places he cares about. He hates it. “Immortality is everybody else dying.” “In the end you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” That last line, the Lazarus speech, sounds familiar because it’s something similar, interestingly, to what Rose said when she was the Bad Wolf. “Everything comes to dust.” Immortality is not a blessing. Immortality is absolutely a curse, and the show treats it like a curse. It’s not just never dying. Immortality is being alone and being unnatural. It’s bad. It’s not a good thing. If you were a 100% perfect person with a 100% perfect memory, it might be doable, but it’s not an easy existence. It sounds awful actually. We saw it with Ashildr (terrible idea). She’s miserable. She never really stops being miserable. Think about this: the Doctor is (kind of) immortal. He never stays in one place for too long, and he is careful to bring along far more mortal traveling companions wherever he goes. The Doctor once told Amy that he brought her with him because he can’t “see it” anymore (meaning the universe and its value), but he brings Amy and others with him because they can see it. “And when you see it, I see it.” What is everyone always telling him? Don’t travel alone. Not because he’s lonely—even though he totally is. It’s because when he is alone, the Doctor becomes a hazard, not a help. He starts to feel like he can do whatever he wants. I mean, think about it. He starts to feel like his judgement is infallible, because he’s basically a god, isn’t he? But no one should have that much power. It takes a lot to kill him, he’s a genius, and he has a time-and-space machine. What can’t he do? After a long, long, long time of living and being alone, essentially in an echo chamber with himself, the Doctor would lose empathy and compassion and humility just like anyone else. Because he’s not perfect. But he brings friends along to remind him he can stop now. To remind him we don’t walk away. To remind him that the universe has life in it that is worth saving, and that there is such a thing as right and wrong, and that he is not God, and that there is no such thing as little people. 900 years of time and space and he’s never met anybody who wasn’t important before. He needs his friends to hold him to the mark.

So—the Doctor knows that being immortal basically means that in the end you’ll see everything come to dust. If you’re not careful, you won’t be you anymore. And nothing and no one else will be themselves to you, either. You will lose the people/places you care about, and you will be alone, and you will stop caring. And then not only will you be wretched, you’ll be dangerous. Someone who doesn’t care is dangerous. It’s Ted Bundy. It’s evil. But it’s okay, I hear you saying. If they had each other, he would always have someone to hold him to the mark! Well - yes and then no - Think about Rose. Rose Tyler is a young human woman with so much empathy and sympathy. She is “so human”, in the Doctor’s own words. She is imperfect, and selfish, and petty, and easily angry and easily jealous. She is also impossibly compassionate, even towards the most ruthless murderous species. She’s kind and generous and brave and has a strong sense of justice. She’s often very selfless and very loving. Especially toward the Doctor. She values doing the right thing. A lot of those traits are found in the Doctor’s other friends (he chooses them with great care). But Rose is different. The Doctor is in love with Rose. And Rose is a lot of ‘firsts’ for Doctor Who. She’s the first companion to inspire change in a Dalek. She’s the first companion to tell him she’s in love with him. (Jo loved him, Sarah Jane loved him, Grace loved him, yes I know there were others.) She’s the first companion to be a real, proper onscreen equal to the Doctor, and not in a She’s Basically the Doctor But A Girl way, like Clara Oswald tried to be. She is not his assistant, his carer, his associate, his sidekick, his adoptive daughter, adoptive little sister, biological granddaughter, or his partner. Not to be Emily Bronte, but these two characters have the same heart. Like recognized like and fell in love. Perfect complementation. That is also another Ask for another time –

RTD said that Rose “humans [the Doctor] and he Time Lords her”. He brings out the courage and confidence in her that makes her so exceptional as a human, things that turn her into a hero, things she already had in her that the Doctor pulled forward. In turn, she brings out the compassion and humility in him that makes him a hero instead of a villain, things he always had in him that she pulled forward, adding humanity which would otherwise be easy for him to cast off.

But she can’t human him if she isn’t human anymore.

The things that make Rose an exceptional mortal would no longer be exceptional if she were immortal. The good traits would be a duty to retain, and the bad traits would be a poison to keep at bay. Because Rose is on a different level when it comes to her relationship with the Doctor, she could, for a time, help hold him to the mark. They would be exactly as we saw them in the show—passing by, helping out, saving the day, loving one another, making one another better. And then after eons go by, they would be each other’s echo chamber. Rose is the Doctor’s equal? Given eternity to stagnate in, what was once a strength would quickly become a weakness. Rose is not perfect and the Doctor is not perfect. Rose would not always be able to “see it” anymore either, even with the Doctor there. Same goes for him. They might be together forever, but Rose would be watching her mother, father, brother, friends, and family all age and die. She would hate that. But it would be okay because she has the Doctor, right? I agree with that. They have one another. So they’re never alone. That’s good. But Rose would not be a Time Lord. She’d be an immortal human. Ashildr 2.0, finite memory in an infinite body. She’d become detached, unable to appreciate the universe, and she’d stop investing in mortal relationships because they all end eventually. All she’d have would be the Doctor—and that’s wonderful, but after a while it would stop being a special thing that they have one another. Don’t look at me like that; it would. Okay, no – no - even if the Bad Wolf powers allowed Rose to have an infinite memory to go with her infinite body, fine, let’s say they did, she and the Doctor would still end up with “a backyard” as Eleven called it.

And eventually they would both think that the two of them, together, have the best judgement in the universe and should be treated as gods, and they will stop caring (except about each other, which doesn’t sound good for all the little people who are not part of that relationship, can you say unhealthy?). Or else they will become enemies, the way the Master and the Doctor became enemies. Or they won’t be able to travel with one another indefinitely, the way Ashildr, the Rani, River, Clara, and Romana can’t travel with the Doctor indefinitely. Because it would become toxic for everyone. And they would be back to being miserable, wouldn’t they?

(And – again -  let me finish beating this tiny horse here: if you think Rose Tyler would heal fairly quickly - say, ten centuries in - and warm up to the reality that she has outlived other humans because she is really no longer human, we aren’t thinking of the same Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor would not wish the curse of the Time Lords on anybody, especially not the woman he loves. He would not agree that immortality is the happiest ending for Rose, or even for himself and Rose. There’s a very real chance that immortality would ruin Rose. He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her.

And here we go, here’s my freaking point - The Doctor loves Rose. So he would give her what she wants, even if it means sacrificing what he wants. Putting her needs before his own. That’s love. She knows that; she was trying to do that for him the whole time!

But what does Rose want? Adventure in the great wide somewhere? No. Rose wants love. Rose wants the assurance of real, true love. Rose wants to love and be loved. And when she finds that, she is darn good at it, and she will do her best to keep it. AND THAT IS ANOTHER ASK FOR ANOTHER TIME, HOOOO BOY DON’T POKE ME- The Doctor cannot give Rose what she wants using himself, or even the thing that will make him happy too, for a time—because to outlive her would be absolutely terrible, and they both know it, and because he will not put her through the curse of immortality. (She doesn’t want to live forever anyway.)

But he can give her what she wants in the form of Tentoo. Are you kidding me? A 100% exact copy of the Doctor? The same face, same mannerisms, same hair? All the memories of loving her and longing for her in his head? And he only has one heart? He’ll grow old at the same time as Rose does? Plus, hi, he actually was born in mini wartime and needs the very influence Rose provided for his ninth self? Come on. What else was he going to do? Of course the Doctor and Tentoo gave her this chance. When Rose asks him “What was the last thing you said to me?” The Doctor could have said “I love you”. He was going to say it. It is canon that he was going to say that he loved her if the connection hadn’t been severed the first time. And for him to say it then, they both knew, would have been all Rose needed to hear. She would have gone with him and Donna and died. Or gone with him and Donna and become immortal somehow, hey I hear there are these random Mire repair kits kicking around out there in the universe, they make people immortal, funny we never saw them before now, I hate you Moffat- But he didn’t say it. He said “I said ‘Rose Tyler’.” And she gives him one more chance to say it. “How was that sentence gonna end?” “Does it need saying?” Well, no, it doesn’t. We’re not asking you to confirm it. She’s not asking you to confirm it. It never needed saying. You both knew it was love. We knew it was love. A hundred times over, it was love on display.

But she is asking him to make a choice—and he chooses to let her go because he loves her.

It’s not a question of love. They give each other a chance, both of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Rose had no choice. She asked both of those Doctors to tell her they loved her, and she chose the one that said it out loud, after learning her options. She learned one of them would grow old and was offering to spend forever with her if she wanted. She learned that one of them was genuinely choosing not to say he loved her on purpose.  She made an informed decision. (Yes, she ran after the TARDIS when it left. Wouldn’t you?) The Doctor would agree that Tentoo is the best ending for Rose. Tentoo would agree (because he is the Doctor, and bonus, he gets to have Rose Tyler). Because this, this ending where she gets Tentoo, which is our fancy term for differentiating between two versions of exactly the same man, don’t go there with me-

This ending where she gets Tentoo is genuinely what she always wanted. She didn’t want to live forever. She didn’t want a boring life, but she didn’t desperately want adventure over all else. She wanted love. That’s an adventure anyway. Love. And she loved the Doctor. And she got to have the Doctor, and not lose him, or watch him lose her. And the Doctor, our full Time Lord Doctor, had the assurance of knowing that he did the best he could do for the woman he loved.

(Plus, because yes please, in an official deleted scene which has been confirmed to be intended as canon, Tentoo and Rose have a chunk of TARDIS coral and are growing their own, so they get to see the universe too, so you can’t even complain that all is not as it should be in that sense.) It is sad, because the full Time Lord has to carry on without her (that’s how the story always goes for him, and it should be because without loving and losing, an immortal alien will not have the periodic wake-up call he needs to remember that there is value in people and in relationships and in caring), and it’s sad because Rose won’t see him again, and it’s sad because we won’t really see Rose again. But for her, it is the best ending. It is the kindest, fairest ending. And I think the Doctor would agree.

[celticcrossanon]

Hello Celta, it may sound a mean and an unpopular opinion. But I’m wondering if Charles is using his cancer diagnosis to push for certain outcomes he’s desired all along.

Firstly, it’s been discussed and you’ve seen in your cards that Charles wanted Camilla to co-rule with him, and he was not able to make it happen at the coronation. Now with his cancer diagnosis he seems to be pushing Camilla to “lead” the family. Witness yesterday’s service which looked like a huge PR disaster where Andrew and Sarah came out ahead of everyone else. It’s not a good look, I doubt Charles was aiming for that outcome (more on that below). Next up, there’s a rumour or it’s been announced that Camilla will be leading The Commonwealth Service in March. If that’s true, he’s putting Camilla ahead of the heir, his own son. Very Game of Thrones. Then there’s all this PR is about Camilla saving the monarchy. He seems to be deliberately pushing for Camilla to stand in for him through all this, while William is right there. And then his press will turn around and say, William is unwilling or reluctant or flat out doesn’t want to step up. It’s Machiavellian.

Secondly, I believe Charles was hoping for the money shot of William walking slightly ahead of Andrew out of the service yesterday. It seems that’s what he was hoping for. So that when the talk of Harry coming back ramps up again, as it will inevitably, he could through his PR turn around and say, hey, you’ve no trouble accepting Andrew back, look at these photos of you and him together, why not Harry? We saw the photos of the Wales in the car with Andrew, dint you think he’s capable of manipulating further opportunities? He’ll say Don’t you now I’m sick with cancer? Why can’t you make my last remaining years peaceful by giving me what I want? Namely my snake of a son, with or without his snake wife, at my side with my dying breath?

Thirdly, he’s using his cancer for positive PR, he’s enjoying the bump up in popularity since his diagnosis and wats it to continue. All those photos of him reading get well cards, and getting tearful about it. It makes him a sympathetic figure and he’s milking it. It’s despicable and low down. Him greeting the PM Sunack and saying oh all these cards and letters, awwww they bring me to tears. Can you ever imagine a sovereign such as HTMQ making such a statement to a politician??? I know she’s from a different generation, but my goodness. Our late queen had a dignity no one can deny. She bore her trails with such stoicism, and reserved her tears for when she was alone or with family. It’s makes me so angry to see him portray himself weak and vulnerable simply for the despicable way he treated Diana. Where was his empathy and thoughtfulness when he was dealing with a much younger wife and mother? He was busy plotting and planning with Camilla to show this side to Diana. Seems he only reserves the right to feel sorry for himself and no one else. Instead of me seeing him as sympathetic, I see cunning and manipulation. What a manipulative a-hole.

Wow that took a turn I did not expect, but while I’m sorry he’s got a disease he’s dealing with, he should not be using it to further denigrate his heir, and manipulate others into giving him what he truly wants. I fear that’s what Charles is doing.

Hi Anonymous Retired,

I am posting this before it vanishes on me again and I will come back and edit with my reply.

I would not put it past the King to use his cancer diagnosis to further his own agendas, unfortunately. I don't like saying that but after my past two readings I would not put anything past him.

I can see the King using this to push the Queen into a role that is fitting for a co-ruler and not a Queen Consort (which is the same role that Prince Philip occupied as Prince Consort). What complicates it for me is that while Prince William is right there, he is also dealing with his wife recovering from surgery and having to be there for his three young children. So yes, I can see the pushing of Camilla, but I am also grateful for it in a way as it frees up Prince William to be with his family more than if he was standing in for the King. The crunch will come when Princess Catherine is recovered and Prince William is back to full time royal duties. If the King is still unwell as this stage, as I expect he will be, then the proper thing to do would be for the Queen Consort to take a step backwards and the The Prince of Wales to step in for The King. I can't see that happening, but I could be surprised.

You were spot on about the money shot, as per my reading of today. I also believe that King Charles would use emotional manipulation like you suggest, as we have seen him do it before. This time, I think that William will stand up to him and say No, which will be hard to do but very much worth it in the end.

I think that so far the King remarking on the cards and showing the video of himself reading them has been nice. Those are the only two pieces of PR I have seen. If I see more, or if the illness card is played in articles for sympathy, then I will absolutely think he is suing his diagnosis for good PR. As you said, I think the King reserves his sympathy for himself and perhaps for people that he currently likes (I could be wrong about this). He certainly is not showing the dignity that was such a characteristic of Her Late Majesty, in my opinion anyway. It could just be that he doesn't want to be as stoic as his mother, or that he is trying to show his appreciation, or something. I am more than usually annoyed at him at the moment so I'm not the best person to ask. :)

The King should not be using his disease as a manipulation tactic, I agree. Unfortunately, people do it all the time, from the sick child asking for extra ice cream 'because they are sick' upwards. All you can do is recognise it and do your best not to let it influence your judgement of the matter. It is unbecoming of the monarch to behave in such a manner (and I am still undecided as to whether he is doing this consciously or not), but if he decides to act like that people will see through it eventually and then he will face the consequences.

[redd956]

1700s-1800s Military Whump Prompt List

Getting stabbed by a bayonet

Medic bunching up tons of bandages/gauze against a heavily bleeding wound, ignoring the sounds of whumpee's agony

Whumpee falling off of their horse (and getting caught on the saddle, only to be dragged)

Getting shot but like musket style

Rickety vintage guns going off accidentally, and blowing a brand new hole in whumpee

Whumpee was so heavily focused on the dangers of guns that they completely forgot about the dangers of getting stabbed

Caretaker dipping a cloth in a bucket of water, in order to dab it against whumpee's overheating forehead, both ignoring the sound of battle in the distance

Caretaker having to hurry on a long traveling mission in order to get something that could hopefully save whumpee's life, only to be interrupted by the enemy

Getting whipped after being captured by the enemy

Stitches with no painkillers

Shellshock from canon fire

Whumpee managed to survive getting a non-fatal cut from a sword, but they failed to anticipate the poison that the blade was laced in

Caretaker having to haul whumpee over a horse to lead them back to safety

Deserter stowaways on a ship that gets lost at sea

Getting shot with a bullet that's been purposefully infected with diseases

Getting caught in dangerous wintery conditions. It all seemed possible to overcome, until the horses died

Ally and Enemy putting their differences aside to deal with a much more wealthier, trained, and populous third party

Whumpee fought tooth and nail for their win, only for a third party to come around and "mediate" the situation themselves

Having to get an amputation for much more minor injuries then what we would count for today

Having no clue where the hell you're heading, and what it's going to be like there

Gun blowing up in whumpee's face

Kicked by steel toed boots

Getting an arrow stuck in the shoulder

Having to dig a bullet out of a wound with nothing but a dagger on hand

[starrylothcat]

Quiet Love

Crosshair x Gender Neutral!Reader One-Shot

Summary: Crosshair pops the question 💍

Warnings: None? Feelings, some angst, sappiness. Softy soft Crosshair. Some kissy. Reader not described. AU Crosshair is on Pabu and wants to marry you. He deserves it. In the context of my fic a cycle = a year. 1200 words

Author’s Note: Idk I just have Crosshair feels. Song inspo when I was writing this: Eric’s Song by Vienna Teng 🫶

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Also we need happier Crosshair gifs 😭😂

Strange how I fit into you // There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease // Strange how you fit into me // A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

The sun was sinking below the horizon, scattering magnificent hues of purples, pinks, and reds over the ocean. A slight breeze carried the smell of salty air and distant rain. Puffy thunderheads were forming high in the atmosphere, promising tropical showers.

You and Crosshair were sitting quietly, watching the sun disappear as stars blinked into existence above.

You were good at this, embracing stillness, savoring one another’s quiet presence.

After so long being at war, living in a Galaxy that was torn apart and was still being pieced back together, quiet is now calm.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

Four cycles have passed since you first saw Crosshair on the island.

Four cycles of being drawn to one another by an invisible force, filling the holes in your hearts that you never thought would close. Finding solace in one another’s company, finding forgiveness where you thought there was none.

He was afraid at first, when he realized his feelings for you. Frightened if he let you get close, his darkness and fears would spread like a disease and corrupt you. He was a broken man, his past still weighing heavy on his soul, even after the forgiveness of his family.

Slowly, the gracious and patient light that radiated from you burned through his shadows and he let you in. You both tread carefully at first, but as time went on, and more of his walls came down, the more he let himself fall for you.

Your love was a quiet one, but it was strong. It didn’t need to be loud.

Whether it was his hand on the small of your back when you were in public, or having a cup of caf ready for you in the morning exactly how you liked. How he’d worship your body behind closed doors, confessing his desires and need for you, quiet admissions from his heart, trusting you with his most vulnerable self.

Crosshair felt at his pocket as you sat, you not noticing as you watched the sunset. A ring was hidden in his pocket, something that he’s had for some time.

You held his heart and entire being in your hands. He knew you didn’t need a ring from him to realize his devotion to you. He didn’t either.

But you were willing to accept and help heal the heavy burden that was his heart and his love.

It was all he could do to let you know that you were his forever.

If you said yes.

A dark part of him wondered if this was all a dream, too good to be true. How could someone want to be with him, after all that he’s done? He wasn’t the best with words, but he was trying. He hoped it was enough.

You felt Crosshair’s arm snake around your shoulder, pulling you closer into him. He usually saved acts of affection like this when you were truly alone, but the veranda you had found was tucked away. You wouldn’t be bothered any time soon.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your shoulders pressed together, the sun slowly fading in the distance. You looked at him, giving him a soft smile.

“It’s beautiful.” You uttered, bringing your hand over his that was draped over your shoulder.

“Hm.” Crosshair grunted in agreement, glancing down at you, the dimming sunlight casting a warm glow over your skin. You brushed your lips against his, content in this moment. Crosshair accepted your kiss, deepening it by leaning more toward you.

His hand that was free secretly slipped down to his side to his pocket. You didn’t notice what he was doing, too lost in his kiss. Crosshair pulled away from you, knowing it was now or never. His arm left your shoulder, leaning away from you slightly. That’s when you noticed he was holding something out to you in his hand.

You stared, taking a moment to realize what he was holding. It was small and shiny. You focused your eyes and realized it was a ring.

You gawked, trying to process what he was offering to you, and why.

The gears turned in your head, your mouth opening and closing, at a loss for words.

Was he…was this?

“C-Crosshair?” You whispered, your voice shaking, looking between him and the ring. “What…what is this?”

He didn’t say anything as you continued to gaze at the ring, not wanting to misinterpret the gesture.

“I’m not getting down on one knee if that’s what you’re expecting.” He grumbled, shifting in his seated position, waiting for your answer.

Tears filled the sides of your eyes, his words solidifying exactly what he was asking you.

And he was doing it in the most Crosshair way possible.

“Crosshair, are you asking me to marry you?” Your voice was hoarse, your heart pounding in your chest.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, yet his expression was soft.

“Yes, why else would I be giving this to you?”

He held the ring out further, gesturing for you to take it.

You gently took the ring from his hands, turning it in your fingers.

Embedded in the band was a jewel in your favorite color, catching the light of the setting sun.

“How long have you…?”

“Are you saying yes or not?”

You looked at him, seeing him intensely waiting, his eyes locked on yours. Was there a hint of nervousness deep in his eyes?

You gripped the ring in your hand, knowing your answer without a second thought. You slung your arms around his neck, pulling him into a flaming kiss.

“Yes! Crosshair, yes!” You gasped against his lips as his moved just as passionately against yours. You could swear you felt a weight lift off his shoulders, his body relaxing.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you kissed, his arms wrapping around you. Begrudgingly, you pulled away after what seemed like hours, realizing you were still grasping the ring in your hand.

“I love you.” You whispered as your lips left his. He squeezed you tighter. “I know.” You released him from your embrace, looking at the ring again in your hand, and looking back at him. You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face, though tears were still wetting your cheeks.

“Don’t get sappy on me.” He whispered, bringing a hand to wipe the tears from your face.

You huffed, grinning. “You’re calling me sappy?”

Crosshair chuckled, a rare small smile gracing his face, his sharp features softening momentarily.

“Well, are you going to put it on me properly?” You asked. Crosshair’s smile turned signature sly smirk as he took the ring from you.

With a gentleness only he could show you, Crosshair took your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

“Does anyone know?” You wondered, admiring how it looked, happiness flooding your entire being.

“Wrecker knows. Which means everyone does since he can’t keep a secret.”

You laughed as you leaned against him, both of you looking back at the sky, the sun now almost completely set. You placed your newly ringed hand on his thigh, his own hand covering yours.

You continued to sit silently, the last rays of light fading beyond the horizon. Nothing more needed to be said.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

@wanderer-six @pb-jellybeans

[mymreaderlibrary]

Maybe it's just cause I'm replaying Dying Light but with Cod zombies being a thing I'm thinking about the TF141 in an apocalypse type scenario. Just a blurb idk if I’ll do anything with this.

Gonna lean heavily into the story of Dying Light here because I love it. Note that mc/ reader takes a combined role of Bracken, Jade, and Kyle C. That being said there is no Bracken, Jade, or Kyle in this universe and Rahim is reader’s younger brother.

[TF141 x male reader, no relationship (yet), zombies, death and gore, ramblings/ lore skimming]

[Length: 1,480 words]

|

|

|

The 141 are given a private mission to infiltrate the city of Harran and hunt down a terrorist residing in the area. He's stolen highly sensitive documents and is threatening to have them released through an informant if something happens to him. A standard deal where the task force is concerned however Harran itself is the dangerous part of the mission.

A disease has ravaged the city, being the first documented case of what is now known as the Harran Virus. It is a strain of rabies that zombifies any of those infected, making them instinctively hunt down other warm blooded creatures to spread. The city has been completely quarantined and the virus has not gotten outside of it yet, but this also makes the area a cesspool, concentrated with death and disease. Reports say there are no living (or at least non infected) residents remaining aside from the terrorist group which have holed themselves in an unknown location. Because of this a strike has been permitted to raze Harran in hopes of destroying the virus or at the least any violent infected. A counteractive medicine is in development with its prototype being given to the task force in case of emergency, however there is no solid solution beyond massacring infected. It's not pretty work but the world can't risk this disease breaking out.

The 141 are given specialized equipment, thick gear, loads of medical equipment, and a collection of high end firearms. The team are air dropped into the lower city and instructed to start their search immediately.

|

The sun is already beginning to set by the time they land. It would almost be pretty if it weren’t for all the viscera in the streets creating a sour rotten stench. Both Gaz and Soap wretch but do their best to push through, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of life. It doesn’t take long for them to find hostiles except to their surprise it’s not infected. Instead a group of well armed thugs attempt to corner them. They’re all carrying machetes and nail bats, some with masks while others have paint creating three jagged stripes across their face. Ghost notes their lack of firearms as odd but chalks it up to lacking proper equipment (even if their body armor told otherwise).

Regardless it goes about as well as you expect for the thugs against such well trained soldiers, however hell breaks loose when Soap decides to fire his pistol. A banshee like scream is heard from across the street and their attackers scatter without hesitation, even leaving behind their wounded. Quickly a horde of infected begin rushing towards the task force, mouths gaped wide and moaning. The zombies they were told of were slow and bumbling but these were ravenous. They ran, yelled wildly, clawed at the 141 with a fervor, and with each shot of the team's firearms another horde would soon follow. It was clear they were overwhelmed and the fear that the mission was over before it even began quickly hit. A pained hiss sounded from Ghost as a zombie managed to pull off his glove and bite into the calloused flesh of his hand. Another slammed Gaz onto the pavement and began chewing into his shoulder. Price and Soap just barely threw off their friend's attackers but the assault only continued.

As another infected went to claw at Price's face the zombie's head flew clean off. The corpse flopped down to the side, convulsing wildly, but unable to keep attacking. A group of young men and women, wearing uniforms unlike the thugs from before, began dragging the team out from the horde. They threw firecrackers over their shoulders and onto the street, catching the infected's focus and separating their numbers. A man in particular seemed to be leading the 141's saviors, giving quiet orders through hand signals to his comrades.

They got a solid distance before the same man began looking them over for injuries in a building. The lowered visibility from the growing dark made it difficult but not impossible. Gaz and Ghost were the only ones bitten meanwhile Soap and Price were scraped from their scuffle with the thugs. Despite the bites being small they bled heavily and the two men had already broken out into sweats. Shaking violently Gaz’s legs buckled and he began to cry out in pain. Ghost faired no better his eyes looking dazed and unfocused as he could only hiss out panicked breaths. Gaz's pain seemed to recapture the attention of the infected outside as banging began on the door of their refuge. A young woman went to barricade the entry but the vicious sound persisted. A fist broke through the wood and scratched at the woman's eye but she didn't falter, using her back to block the entry.

In the commotion Price recalled the prototype medicine he had been given by their contractor and quickly pulled out two small syringes. Their rescuers gave them an odd look before the leader snatched it out of his hands and injected both men without question. It took a moment for the medicine to take effect but the pair began to go lax, heartbeats slowing to a normal pace. However they were still too weak to stand and the door was beginning to buckle. The woman barricading it was grabbed and dragged out into the dark street by the vicious creatures. The rescue leader tried to pull her out but it was too late.

With a pained look in his eye the leader commanded the remaining men and women to take the 141 back to "The Tower" while he distracted the zombies away from them. He left no room for argument and they were whisked away quickly from the regrowing horde. The now nearly black streets greeting them as they ran, carrying their fallen comrades.

|

The journey to this tower, which turned out to be an apartment complex covered in UV lights, took a lot of climbing but eventually they were welcomed through the front gates. Or well, welcomed was an overstatement, it was more like begrudgingly let through after some convincing from their rescuers. The guards at the door glared at the men and Price could hear them scoffing about their missing leader and how “Rahim is gonna be pissed”. Seems that man wasn't just a leader to those runners but to this tower as a whole. And well if that wasn't a way to instantly ruin your reputation.

They were transferred to the medical ward where Gaz and Ghost stayed, far too out of it to get out of their cots. It was honestly quiet odd seeing the two laying dazed and pale. While the medicine seemed to have some sort of effect, there was no saying for how long. It was still only a prototype.

Soap and Price on the other hand could leave after getting bandaged, only suffering superficial wounds. They were instructed to rest, guided to some rooms a floor below where they saw several civilian types. Men, women, children... a mother in the corner cradling her crying baby trying to convince him to go back to sleep. A father sitting beside his two daughters resting on a cot covered by a thin sheet. A teen boy sitting alone, curled up on a chair shaking. Life. Something they were told didn't exist down here outside of terrorists.

One day on and the mission was already a mess, two soldiers down, emergency meds already in use, a whole community of civilians discovered, a possible ally MIA, and they had not an ounce of info to show for it. Sleeping after that just didn't feel right but the two men supposed there was nothing they could do as the tower was locked until morning. If the screams and yowls of dead were anything to go off of, it sounded like the infected were more active in the night. Who knew if this tower’s leader was even alive out there amongst the savage undead.

It took what felt like a year for the sun to rise again but just as daylight cusped the window Price could hear commotion downstairs. Cheers, shouts, panicked calls for a medic. As him and Soap peered onto the floor above they spotted that same leader from before now being dragged in to the medical ward from the stairs. Blood trailed behind him, his arms littered with cuts, bruises, and bites, but he was conscious and attempting to walk. A thick stream of red pooled from his temple down his chin and for a split second his gaze caught Price. His eyes were near unreadable, murky like Ghost's but still alert enough to be aware of what was going on. He seemed almost satisfied seeing the captain alive and well but quickly was taken away to be bandaged.

This mission was already hell.

[scarlettscribbles]

prologue

PART OF neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons by the sea DRABBLE SERIES ↠ masterlist

- Lucy Gray Baird & Daughter!OC, mentioned Lucy Gray Baird x Coriolanus Snow

Summary: 1.7k words - The words were on the tip of her tongue before Coriolanus had let it slip that he'd killed three people.

As Lucy Gray became a ghost lost in the wind, so did her secrets.

a/n: i cannot stop thinking about snowbaird !! inspired by my visenya-verse and also bc i love writing about children being loved :)

also, shout out to PlayingTheGameOfThrones' It's Quiet Uptown! i was reading snowbaird fics and i was so happy to find a secret kid fic. literally squealed in excitement bc i was like, that's what's literally in my brain rn

In truth, Lucy Gray was too young to be doing this. Halfway eighteen, with her heart broken by a man — a boy, really — who almost killed her. Ironically, the suspect of her current predicament was the same person. Oh how Lucy Gray hated it that he still haunted her now.

She had Lucy Gray’s tan skin, her baby girl. The wisps of her hair stuck against her forehead were bright blond. Lucy Gray wondered if her hair would darken eventually.

Annabel Rose Baird was a sickly baby. Her heart was weak and every night, Lucy Gray would have trouble sleeping, afraid that she’d wake up with a cradle gone cold. But she was a survivor, her Annie. Much like her mother. (And father.)

But they could not live on that alone. Lucy Gray, barely recovered from birth, wrapped her baby tight on her back with a sling and took their meager belongings in a bag, setting out to find the community up North Billy Taupe had once talked about. Lucy Gray walked for miles and miles, sometimes wishing she hadn’t left behind that lovely orange scarf her lover gave her. It would’ve made for a more comfortable sleep in their journey. She could’ve given it to Annie as her baby blanket, something to remember her childhood by — the one piece of her father she would ever know or keep. But alas, Lucy Gray had left it behind along with the broken pieces of trust she once thought she could rely on.

Lucy Gray found them eventually. Or rather, they found her. It was in the middle of the night and she’d just put Annie to sleep when flashes of light shone through the gaps between the trees. Cradling her whimpering baby close to her chest, Lucy Gray raised a hand in surrender, hoping that she was saying the right words for them to not shoot her.

They took them to their leader and gave them a small cabin. It was cozy and comfortable but it wasn’t home. Not when their leader, with his calculating eyes and access to Capitol broadcasts, look at her and her baby with such intense scrutiny. Lucy Gray’s paranoia increases every time he “accidentally” chances upon her with questions about the Capitol, about the Hunger Games, about Annie. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is. Lucy Gray endures his questions, answering casually to alleviate the suspicion upon her. Her heart threatens to beat out of her chest every single time. She could only properly breathe again when she’s back within the four walls of their cabin, with Annie safe in her arms, her little puffs of breath warming Lucy Gray from the inside out.

The one saving grace of the place was Dr. Hartree. She was training under some big shot Capitol doctor when she fled, so she knew more than the District healers did despite the meager hospital equipment she had. She diagnosed Annabel Rose with something called moderate Ventricular Septal Defect; a heart disease she had since birth. Dr. Hartree let her listen to the whooshing sound of her Annie’s heartbeat through the stethoscope. Her baby’s got a hole in her heart. Lucy Gray wept.

Dr. Hartree said that the hole might yet repair itself, that she could look for some medicine that could help strengthen Annie’s heart muscles. But if it did not, Annie would need heart surgery which Dr. Hartree was neither qualified for nor equipped to do. In that scenario, going to the Capitol would be Annie’s best hope, said the doctor. The community’s leader approved Dr. Hartree’s request for getting the medicine. In exchange, Lucy Gray had to take on additional work on top of what she’d already been assigned with to earn her keep. Lucy Gray was both thankful and suspicious. She was no fool, a big favor like that didn’t come without heavier strings. But her baby was alive so Lucy Gray kept her head down. (For the moment, at least.)

Annabel Rose grew up a happy child. She was small for her age but her presence filled the room and her heart was so full of love. Whenever she smiled, a deep dimple showed on her cheek and her warm brown eyes would shine like stars in the night sky. Her baby never did grow out of her blond hair, riotous curls tumbling down her head. She looked like an angel; Lucy Gray’s own angel.

She was truly heaven sent. There were no words to describe how much her daughter made her happy, which was something, coming from a songwriter. Oft Lucy Gray wished the Covey had a chance to know her daughter. Annabel Rose fit in alright with the children of the community, but children can be cruel sometimes. Annie’s body was weak and she ran out of breath fast, making her unable to be included in strenuous physical activities. Lucy Gray was not deaf to the whispers of “runt” that surrounded her daughter, whispers that eventually reached Annie’s ears, causing her to come home tearfully, fisting her mother’s skirt and asking what it meant. Once upon a time, Lucy Gray would have been rearing for a fight but everything was different now. She didn’t have her Covey; her and Annie were alone.

Oh, people were nice enough but, like in District 12, they seemed to be able to sense an otherness in her and Annie that made them unable to accept them fully. It didn’t help that the community leader’s demeanor was like that either. The residents liked and respected him better than the strangers they barely knew anything about, so of course they’d follow his example.

Lucy Gray had been missing her Covey so much that she contemplated going back to District 12, back to her family, when she’d heard that an electric fence was put around it, complete with Peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter. They’d never bothered with that area before, but Lucy Gray had an inkling why they suddenly found it important.

So what else could she do but grit her teeth and bear it? Every night Lucy Gray would sing songs to Annie and tell her stories about the Covey, about her family and the colorful nights and laughter they shared. And Annie’s eyes would shine in the low lamplight, humming along to the tunes.

Lucy Gray did not bring her guitar with her during her journey out of District 12, but she was able to obtain a smaller version — a ukulele — from a traveling salesman. His initial offer nearly took all her saved up money to pay for, but she was able to haggle down to a more reasonable price. At 3-years-old, Annabel Rose learned the basic chords from her mother. The first song she learned was to the tune of Lucy Gray's namesake.

It tugged at Lucy Gray’s heartstrings to hear her Annie’s sweet voice in the warmth of their home. She resolved to write a song for her daughter’s fourth birthday as a gift. Lucy Gray had her song, and so did her Capitol boy. It was only apt that Annabel Rose had one too.

It was the night of Annabel Rose's fourth birthday when everything went wrong. Lucy Gray was humming underneath her breath to the tune of a new song, their tiny kitchen fragrant with the smell of a birthday cake she’d stolen half the ingredients for to bake. She lit up a deformed red candle she attempted to mold from whatever melted wax she could find, cupping the flame between her palms briefly to keep it from being blown out. With a satisfied sigh, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the bed to shake her daughter awake.

All Lucy Grey felt was the cold skin of her daughter, her breathing shallow and her skin tinged blue. Her heart dropped to her stomach. With shaking hands, she wrapped Annie in a blanket and lifted her into her arms.

On the way to Dr. Hartree’s cabin, Lucy Gray would not realize that she’d been singing the song she’d written for Annie. And she will sing it under her breath while the good doctor examined her daughter, telling her the heart defect had gotten worse. She’d sing it at the back of her mind while Dr. Hartree tells her that surgery wasn’t an option anymore, that the medicine Annie’ll need is only available in the Capitol, that if she wants her baby to live she’ll need to find some way to get her a heart transplant. She’ll sing it and sing it, hoping the girl she’d written it for would awaken long enough to sing it with her.

She would only stop when Dr. Hartree clasped her hands, telling her in a hushed whisper that she’d found a way to get them to the Capitol discreetly. The doctor’s got family among the Peacekeepers in District 12 who was going to go to the Capitol in two days. Some officer fellow that was high-ranking enough to have his own private train cabin, and kind enough to share it with them. Dr. Hartree had given her temporary antibiotics for Annie with an apology that she couldn’t do anything more. When they arrive in the Capitol, Lucy Gray was on her own. Lucy Gray who had no penny to her name, who would probably be shot on sight once the Capitol had caught wind of her existence.

Her mind was racing on the morn she and a barely-lucid Annie snuck out to the gates. They were met with a heavyset man two heads taller than Lucy Gray, driving a military jeep. Time passed quickly and they encountered no hurdles getting to the train station on time. He lent them warm Capitol-style cloaks so they could blend in upon arrival. He’d even made her a cup of tea, noticing the nervousness in her demeanor. Lucy Gray had not been expecting such kindness from a Peacekeeper, no matter how highly Dr. Hartree spoke of him.

It was nighttime when they arrived, snow falling heavily on the ostentatious buildings. It wasn’t only the cold that made Lucy Gray shiver.

Under the cover of the night, Lucy Gray held her Annabel Rose and rapped on the door of the one she’d hoped would help them. If blood was not an enough reason, she could always appeal to their conscience.

The door swung open.

“Tigris, I need your help.”

[annabelle--cane]

hello, I would love to hear your magnus protocol theories if you have any?

every single one of the following theories are exactly as serious as each other, none of these are jokes at all:

the arg end page on the oiar site saying "all of that was 100% a totally fake training exercise so destroy any evidence you kept or be charged with treason" is such a massive lie <3

the oiar is the new seat of power for the alternate-universe-sorta-beholding. the magnus institute burned down and it simply didn't matter to the dread powers, they just jumped ship and let all their human servants die, which would tie-in to the pitch of protocol being more about systems whereas archives was about personal choices. a single person did manage to burn down the torment nexus institute but it simply didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

lena kelley is alternate jonah magnus's current host

archives 'verse einsamernarr was the one who leaked those statements in 1999 mentioned in mag 68. the timelines don't quite line up, but several time stamps from the usenet forum look rather, shall I say, like they've been affected by exposure to a massive hole in reality that links to a different slightly out of sync universe.

the magnus institute was burned down by a cataclysmically angry mother who realized the extra curricular classes her kid went to was giving them "haunted by ghosts" disease.

gwendolyn bouchard is alternate jonah magnus's current host

hokay one of the arg documents pulled from a floppy disc found at an irl event had a spreadsheet in it written in german with what looks to me like dates and locations of statements (or maybe incident reports...?). I think this might have some clues about the protocol 'verse fear taxonomy, as the notes section of uncorrupted rows seem to have explanations for the events. most of them are "cats lol," but some labels ring bells for me, like "war people / warriors" (slaughter) and "avoid" (lonely), and some don't but are still spooky. "ink" comes up several times, "never again" and "unhappy child" once each. one that took place at a somerset theme park is noted with "mr b," so clearly bonzo himself is also an entity of fear.

lady mowbray is alternate jonah magnus's current host

she's also just a front for funneling money to the great bonzo

I really think that under no circumstances are we going to definitively know what happened to jon and martin from the archives 'verse, but we could definitely see what their alternate selves are up to in this timeline. I've got nothing to back this up but I'd like to see them being evil and doing evil laughs and enacting evil actions.

I shall be real, I have no idea what the deal will be with celia ripley, I just know that it's significant that she's called celia when her alternate self chose that name AND saw a fire ghost woman. here's how agnes montag--[I am shot]

bonzo is alternate jonah magnus's current host

[ceasarslegion]

Every time I have a cold bad enough to knock me out of work for the day I think of how many new agers probably got off track with how there's a very big difference between a cure and a remedy that isn't well-taught when you grow up. They are both important, both have a medicinal value, but the difference is that a remedy is all about making you feel better while a cure doesn't give a shit about how you feel, it's about getting the sickness at the source. I wonder how any new age medicine types got lost because they crossed the lines here

Like, a remedy is what you will use the most. Because the vast majority of illnesses the average otherwise healthy person gets do not need proper medical intervention. And in a lot of cases overusing cures can backfire because a lot of everyday endemic pathogens in the world need to be fought off naturally in childhood to build a good resistance to them as an adult. Obviously this doesn't apply to like, deadly diseases we vaccinate for, I'm talking about the various common cold viruses that form a fine film atop every outdoor surface.

If you can get it over the counter, it's a remedy. That includes things like ibuprofen. Because that just deals with the pain of your headaches, not the actual source of them. Nyquil, Epsom salt baths, ginger tea, are all likewise remedies. They do legitimately make you feel better and help to manage the symptoms but they don't fight the virus, they make you more comfortable while your immune system does its job. But like, if you don't know that, I can see how someone can get lost in the placebo effect of "well I took a hot Epsom salt bath, drank some ginger tea, and tried a shot of my grandma's cold remedy of chili paste in hot lemon water. And then all my sinuses were cleared and my aches and pains were gone, and then the next day my cold was gone. Wow, that was real medicine." And then they see what things like proper antivirals are made of and the side effects they can have and go "oh, that's dreadful :(( here, I have something much better" and then they stumble down the anti medicine rabbit hole.

The thing is though that if something actually works against a pathogen it will have side effects. Thats why I said that cures don't care about how you feel. And if medical intervention is needed it's because that cold has progressed to the point where the benefits of the effects outweigh the cons of the side effects. Biochemistry is a tricky thing.

[bigfathoe4you]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Preface:

My zombies are not dead, they are infected with a disease which makes them hungry, they are not decomposing or mindless, they are driven insane by the pain of hunger and the things they’ve done so in a sense they die. They are loosely based on a book called ashes by Ilsa J. Bick, a very good angsty zombie book with very little romance.

This fic is set in the north west of England, to make it plausible for the MC to stumble upon the 141. Being Scottish myself I would love to make the MC Scottish and move the fic to the highlands, but I want some feedback on that.

TW: Death of a friend/sister, skinny reader (she fattens up), a lot of gross descriptions of zombies and death, angst lots, smut in later chapters.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from living 6 years in a zombie apocalypse it’s “waste not, want not.” That was the thought that kept me from gagging at the smell of the jacket that I shook rotten skin off of. Rising I looked down at the skinny, pale ‘woman’ I’d pried it from. had she done the same? How many people have died in this jacket? Would I die in the cold, spend years wandering, Killing others, feeling a deep painful unending hunger?

I looked down at her failing body, before the fall of humanity these jeans would have been 2 sizes too small, the shirt about 3 or 4. I’d lost all shape, hadn’t had a period in years, my skin looked a shade darker thanks to the many layers of dirt that clung to me. I once took pride in my appearance, now my crowning achievement was surviving for this long by myself.

Taking one last sweep of the shop I found a grey eyed boy, looked about 19, his cheeks sagged and the bags under his eyes were bulging, purply red. His pale cheeks were littered with peach fuzz and tear stained, his nose a pudgy red from his quiet sobs. He groaned in pain as he pulled a skinny rat apart, sucking on the small bones. He looked up at me from his crouched position and growled, his primitive brain deciding if he should run with his meal or if he could take me. He twitched his way to his feet dropping the rat at his feet.

Before his skinny legs could take him to me I’d pulled the gun from my waistband and shot a few small holes through his chest. He let out some muffled whimpers as he crumpled to the floor, I followed him to the floor. I had grown to feel very little but when they looked so young it hurt. I stroked his thinning hair and shushed him whilst he hacked up blood and shook.

The trek back to base was long but quiet, the marshy ground of the north west sucked my feet deep into the ground, the ‘suctiony’ sound that emitted from dragging my feet drowned out my own thoughts. As the base came into view my steps hurried, eager to get inside, it was tuesday (possibly) which meant it was my allotted bath day, due to the difficulty of moving the water from the various rain collectors and the calories it cost, I allowed myself a bath every two weeks. 

The hard metal door bit at my reddening fingers as I fumbled with the keys, reminding me I needed to organise them somehow. I huffed at the effort it took to pull the second interior door open and closed, it had been ripped off its hinges and now scratched across the cold linoleum as I dragged it about. When I finally got inside I relocked every door I walked through to get to the innermost rooms of the base. Whilst people were rare- some zombies in the early stages retained the ability to open and close doors. 

I went to the woodburner and warmed the deer from the outdoor freezer. Most livestock like cattle and sheep were almost hunted to extinction by the zombies but some animals like deer and rabbits remained too fast for zombies. But not me and my gun. I cooked the whole leg, I’d refreeze the tougher bits and keep them for on the go.

Whilst the deer cooked I used my pot to boil some water for my bath. It was more of a sponge bath really, getting fully naked and into a slippery tub was inviting trouble. I used some watered down fairy liquid and an old PT (psychical training, yeah I did cadets so I’m qualified to tell you all about it) shirt to scrub at my skin, one limb at a time.

I pulled one leg out of my jeans leaving the boot and jeans scrunched so I could haul them back up if I needed to. And it was a good thing I did as I was picking dirt out of my scabby skinned knee, I heard a scrapping. My blood ran cold and I almost wept at the sound. 

Scrambling to put my jeans and boots back on. With each creak of a door opening and closing and the low raspy voices of men my hands shook more. 

And when I heard the noise that I knew to be the particularly squeezy door to the room I’d claimed as my own, I almost turned the gun on myself. There were at least 2 men and they knew there was a woman living here.

Steeling myself and setting my footing I readied myself in the middle of the room, no hiding the only power I have is I am pointing my gun at the single door to this room.

The kitchen door moved to open easily and a silhouetted figure pulled every shadow from the room and they pooled at this man's feet, he stood easily a foot taller than myself. The imposing figure took up almost the entire doorway. Although there were no shadows, it was only him, he dressed all in black, tactical gear and a dark balaclava covered his entire being. This man may be death itself.

“Fuck off.” A man wriggled around ‘death’ “Nae way!” barreling towards me a man not as tall as ‘Death’ but just as large wrapped strong arms around me.

My plans crumbled and I lost any ability to remain calm or strong were lost to me. “Please! Please there are guns, ammo, food! If you leave me alone I- I’ll tell you where” the words were choked out of me and my sweaty hands shook looking for my gun. 

The man pulled back but I couldn’t see through the tears that blinded me “It’s- It’s me Johnny” the voice and name were familiar. Strong hands snaked up my arms and held me at my shoulders “oh, darlin’ we’d never hurt you” he put a hand on my cheek and slowly brought my eyes to him. I almost gagged on my tears looking at him, my best friend's older brother, I looked at him and saw her. Alex, my other half, our whole lives attached at the hip, her death had hurt more than any of the rest. 

“Oh Johnny, I’m so sorry” his excitement at seeing me faded to the most hollow I’d ever seen a man. We sank to our knees together, forgetting the man in the doorway. I pushed our brows together “It was quick, I did it” I whispered to him, as I saw the small tears slip down his cheek. 

xx

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Tags:

@audie-writes